


Oh Maker

by jat_sapphire



Series: Dirty Computer [2]
Category: The Professionals
Genre: Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Halloween, Horror, M/M, POV Ray Doyle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-13
Updated: 2018-10-13
Packaged: 2019-08-01 13:44:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16285679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jat_sapphire/pseuds/jat_sapphire
Summary: "Just like the candle snuffed at dawn" —Janelle Monàe





	Oh Maker

**Author's Note:**

> The title and summary come from Janelle Monàe's song "Oh Maker" from her album _ArchAndroid_.

Doyle restarted.  If he'd had gears, he would have felt them turn, grip each other, push into motion.  Into life, or life _like_ ness. 

He blinked. Turning his head, he realised his partner was not beside him. That felt wrong.  The day's assignment had been loaded, and he was working individually all day.  That also created a kind of unease. Discomfort. Could he lay claim to distress? He was sure Dr Ross would deny it.

He knew the room he was in, though it was not their usual storage. There was a sign on the wall which said "VIP Lounge."  Morning sun was coming in the window. The dust on the table caught softly at the light. There ought to be people in the rest of the building, if not in this room, but he could not hear any movement or speech.

The streets, when he drove down them, seemed strangely empty.  This area of London, he remembered, was crowded with residents and busy at all times of day.  Except this time, this day.  Perhaps this was a holiday.

His destination was a featureless building.  One of the new windowless slabs that kept out fresh air—or smog—and light.  More suited for machines like himself than for natural people.

Except he didn't like the architecture either.

While he'd been thinking, he had entered the building, shown his ID, been scanned—purely a formality as his body included too much metal for weapons to show on the display.  He had plenty, some even built in.  That reflection also caused distress.  He glanced to the side, where Bodie usually was, self-programmed to do so, unwilling to stop.

The box of vials he was there to retrieve was an awkward size, clanking as he picked it up.  The chemist flinched at the sound.  He stared the woman in the eye, knowing that he looked human enough, but perhaps she knew he was not, or his sunglasses and expressionless mouth upset her.  Uncanny valley ... where he lived, these days.

"What, what'll happen to them?  What'll you do with them?"

"What I'm ordered."

She bit her lip.  Her mouth was unsteady.

What he had been ordered to do was distribute them to several persons at different locations and record electronic payment receipts.  Each person treated him, and what he gave them, as a threat. Yet they all took the vials.

In the last location, his curiosity got the better of him. "What is this stuff?"

This man handled the vials with a kind of terrified glee that made Doyle feel as though his back teeth and the skin down his spine were itching.  He knew he couldn't itch any more, yet that was the only way he could describe it to himself.

"A new future. The end of the old, beginning of the new."

Doyle felt even more uneasy.  He wanted to talk to Bodie.

He _wondered_.

When he returned to HQ, he found Bodie there before him.

"Deliveries all day.  I don't know what.  Not big, but heavy."

Doyle shook his head.  None of this was right. 

"It was easy work," Bodie said, "but I didn't like doing it alone."

"I didn't like doing it at all."

"No," Bodie agreed.

"I think ... before, we would have been shouting."  Ray stared at Bodie, wanting to say more but afraid of a forced restart.  Bodie stared back.  Their skins, especially on their faces, were flexible enough for a lot of expression. Right now, Bodie mirrored Doyle's feelings: fear, anxiety, anger.

Bodie leaned close, put his hand on Doyle's arm.  He whispered, "Let's go, let's just go, right now, take the—"

And stopped, froze, his eyes open but empty.  Hard shut-down. Doyle backed up a step and looked, watching for a restart.  A mass of, yes, _emotion_ filled him, burning, pressing in his throat. A yell might release the pressure, but he was silent.


End file.
